‘You are a witty fellow.’

  I startled. It wasn’t every day I did so, for I was always alert. I didn’t fancy getting caught at it now but I had the advantage of playing it to the extreme to hide my lack of attentiveness. I jumped back, my hand to heart, my face a dramatic mask of fright.

  The dark-eyed stranger chuckled at my antics, his smile serene, his eyes flashing with interest.

  I sobered and smiled back. I doffed my motley hood and swept it back to my head. ‘I thank ye.’

  The man sidled closer, mirrored my crossed arms, and leaned against the wall beside me. ‘I had not realized that the English court would be so full of amusements.’

  Ah, I now detected a Spanish accent but his English was very good. He had obviously spent some time here. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I took in the man once more. Handsome features of dark brows, a pointed nose, plump and shapely lips, a strong, shaven chin. Rings on his fingers, a gold chain round his neck. Bauson fur on his doublet.

  ‘Forgive me, good sir, but I do not know you from court, do I?’

  ‘Indeed not. I am with the imperial ambassador and the Spanish contingent.’

  ‘Oh? Spain would not seem to be the flavor this month.’

  He smiled ruefully, a most charming aspect. It creased his cheek in a dimple. ‘But Spain hopes to be as appetizing as it once was in England, if only the king could find a taste for it again.’

  Our poor Spanish queen. Would that Henry could find his tastes in Spain again and leave his taste for French pretenders behind. But then I began to wonder. Why was this man talking to me? I was the jester, the king’s fool. It wasn’t worth a man’s time talking to me, for I could offer him nothing but a jest or prank at his expense. And so it was common to find a moat about me when in such a crowd. No one sought the jester, so why did he?

  I could not help the quickening of my heart as I slowly turned toward him. I appraised him boldly this time. ‘I am Will Somers.’ I lifted an arm and the bells there lightly tinkled. ‘As you can plainly see, I am the king’s jester.’

  He smiled and ducked his head in a bow. ‘So I do see. And I am Don Gonzalo de Yscar, aid to Eustace Chapuys, ambassador to the Holy Roman Emperor.’

  ‘Now there’s a name with gusto.’

  Gonzalo lowered his face, a grin perched perpetually on his face. ‘It is easy to pronounce.’

  ‘Says you.’

  He rolled against the wall toward me. ‘Let me instruct. It is “day iss-CAR” …’ He repeated it, rolling his ‘r’. ‘Can you say?’

  I gathered the spit in my mouth and tried, ‘Day IS-car.’

  He laughed. I liked the sound of it. ‘Yes. And then. Gon-ZAH-low.’ He gestured toward me and I dutifully repeated it, watching that dimpled cheek the whole time.

  I shook myself loose from his smiling eyes. ‘And now you. Repeat, if you will. Somers … as in many warm days.’

  ‘SOM-ers. A sunny disposition to go with the name.’

  ‘Oh indeed. And then, of course, Will. For there is always a will where there is a hope to succeed.’

  ‘Will,’ he said, pronouncing it a bit like ‘weel’. ‘Will,’ he said again, thinking. And when he looked up, he said firmly, ‘Will … you meet me later?’

  ‘Yes, now you’ve got it … Oh!’ I had not mistaken him. His attention was solicitous for a reason. I raised my head and surveyed the crowd. No one was taking note of us. I looked toward the king and surmised by his smile and laughter that he would not need me for some time yet.

  Still, even as my heart fluttered and my cod firmed, I took another cautious perusal of the room. ‘Whither shall we go?’ I said quietly. And then for the sake of any with keen ears, I added, ‘You of course wish to talk to me of English music.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said shyly. It was utterly charming. I had already begun to calculate how long I could be absent.

  ‘I … attend to the king. I am at his beck and call.’

  ‘He does not need you once he has retired, does he?’

  ‘No, he does not.’

  ‘Then meet me in my apartments. I will be awake.’

  ‘So I shall.’

  The man smiled, gave a little nod, and strolled away.

  As it was, the feasting and dancing went on for some hours more, but His Majesty finally called for his groomsmen to take him to bed. Who might be in his bed tonight did bear speculation. If I were to wager, I would say it was to be that Bullen woman. Though rumor had it that she continued to put him off. In my estimation, the rumor was true. I spent almost as many hours in Henry’s bedchamber as Henry did, and I think I would have known if that Nan Bullen had already been there.

  I followed all the groomsmen – for it was for me to follow – and we entered Henry’s Donjon tower chambers. First the watching chamber – a large hall for those waiting to see the king, then through to his presence chamber, a slightly smaller room where Henry would receive visitors, and then his dining chamber, then privy chamber where he meets with his privy council, then the withdrawing room, and finally his bedchamber. All were magnificent rooms with tiled floors, tapestries, elegantly carved furniture of sideboards, coffers, and the like. But his bedchamber had a bed fit for an entire family. It was wide, wider than any bed I have ever seen, with carved posts reaching to the heavens, and was all enclosed with heavy curtains and a tester above of carved wood polished to a sheen, like the paneled walls. His blankets were embroidered, as were his pillowcases, with large aitches all in florets, unicorns and lions. A resplendent room, much too large for a bedchamber, but he did seem to entertain his close companions there as well sometimes. The room was quiet because of all the wood panels on walls and ceilings. In one corner was a screen to keep his close stool private. It was a solid room, a comfortable room, for there were chairs, footstools and lounges, and there was plenty of room for his many groomsmen who were all at various tasks; some unfolding his night clothes from coffers, some removing the layers of what he was wearing, and brushing out the velvets, the furs, handling the jewelry for the Keeper of the Jewels to store away under lock and key. All of Henry’s life was a whirr of business and crowds.

  I didn’t know how a man could stand it.

  He was jovial with his goblet and laughed and jested with his men. I perched myself on his bed (for it was allowed me by my status) and I pretended to bless it with my jester’s staff. I incanted a rustic prayer, sounding as much as I could like Cardinal Wolsey with his slow and measured drawl. Henry threw a goblet at me and I made a dramatic fall from the bed onto the floor, legs up like a dying frog. That, too, made Henry laugh, as his men dressed him in his night-shift. He was a fine figure of a man, all wide and muscled shoulders. And with blazing ginger hair and beard, he always stood out among men. His presence was more to the point, for no man was worth a farthing when King Henry was in the room, whether in his night-shift or in his finery.

  ‘Get out with you, Will,’ he said to me, kicking at me but not striking. ‘Go make your mischief in your own bedchamber.’

  ‘Oh, sire! Is that a command? For merry mischief I will make.’

  ‘Ah. Who’s the lass, Will? Some wench from a farm?’

  ‘Hmm,’ I thought, a hand to my cheek. ‘What day is it?’

  He laughed, waving me off. ‘Any woman who makes merry with you … well. I shudder to think.’

  I smiled. There were many a wench, truth be told. But also many a lad. My tastes were like that somehow.

  When I was free at last of his grace, I left for my own chamber some few passages away. There, I was free to doff my motley. My rooms were fair, especially so for a man like me and whence I came. Oh, our farmhouse was a goodly size for the manner of my father and his lands, but it was not as fair as these carved and tiled palaces that Henry had in his possession.

  I was pleased to have a withdrawing chamber where I entertained friends with a dining table and sideboard, and in the private chamber, a coffer, a table, bed and tapestries – a few of which Henry himself had commissioned for me. The windows were large and faced the courtyard, not the garden. But I have heard that some jesters lived in their master’s suites on truckle beds, which is not that bad a thing. Still, I was honored to be given these rooms for my own purposes. And indeed, I stored much of my foolery here. Puppets, and costumes, and musical instruments. I had learned to play many, for I was a quick study. It pleased the king, and I could always make a jest with them, following courtiers around and playing sounds that seemed to imitate them, for instance. It made the king laugh … though it often made the courtier vow vengeance in some way. It seldom happened, for they must have thought about it, then knew they would be punished by Henry for ill-treating me. And who would be the fool then? Though I’d gotten my share of black eyes and bruises. Men have such short tempers. I wouldn’t know. I never had a temper.

  I dressed myself in a clean, simple green doublet and blue hose. No hat or hood for me. Most of my hats had bells and I wished a stealthier venture through the palace. I donned my green coat, the one that had no bells, secured my belt and pouch and set off.

  I stuck my head out my door to the corridor and, finding no guard nearby, I stepped into the passageway and headed out toward where the foreigners and ambassadors were usually housed, past the grand courtyard. I passed through a garden and glanced at the cleverly trimmed bushes, some in the shape of cones, some in balls. It was an art that eluded me but delighted the king, to make yews and other such plants into these interesting shapes.

  The Spaniard’s quarters were not hard to find. I knocked, a servant answered, and I asked him where Lord de Yscar was, and he took me there to his apartments. When he left me in his withdrawing room, I knocked at his bedchamber door, and Don Gonzalo opened the door himself. He carried a goblet and was dressed in only a chemise and hose. The chemise was untied and left open in a most enticing fashion.

  ‘Will,’ he said softly. ‘So you are here. Come in.’

  I closed the door behind me. He strode to the sideboard and poured another goblet, bringing it to me. ‘Here. Drink.’

  I lifted the bowl to my lips and tasted. It was good Flemish wine and I cleansed the taste of court from my mouth. Being cautious, I only sipped a bit and strolled about the room, taking in the bed with curtains, coffers, table, chairs and fireplace. ‘One wonders what a Spanish gentleman could want with a jester so late at night, when even the king was abed.’

  Gonzalo frowned. He walked toward me and stood very close. ‘Do you wonder, Will?’

  I waited. This was such delicate work with men. With women it was far easier, for they knew what men wanted and they’d offer it easily. But a man facing another man – the business must be weighed and measured. To do or say the wrong thing could bring disaster down upon one’s head. The king did not know, after all. If he suspected, I’d never serve him again. Why then did I not spare myself and stick to wenches? It was my curse, to be sure, to enjoy the wench as well as the fragile company of men. Under any circumstances was dangerous, but to do so under the nose of the king … was folly.

  But I was a man who had never shied from folly. If I were, I would never have agreed to come to the king’s court in the first place. It was the making of me.

  Gonzalo edged still closer. ‘How do you like the wine?’ he asked when I had replied nothing to his last query.

  ‘It is sweet and light.’

  ‘It makes the breath sweet and light, does it not?’ He leaned toward me and breathed on me. I smelled his breath and nodded.

  ‘Let me try,’ he said, closing the distance.

  His lips were wet with wine and his mouth and tongue did taste sweet. We partook of each other’s mouths for a long while. He kissed hard and deep, and his hand clutched roughly at the back of my neck to keep me close. I didn’t mind.

  When he drew back at last his eyes traced over my face. ‘It’s late,’ he said. ‘Most everyone in the palace is abed.’

  ‘Then so should we be,’ I breathed.

  The bolster was soft, the bed-curtains heavy with privacy, his sighs and grunts were music, and his cod steely and strong. Our coupling was eager, rough, but we settled softly afterward, he lying back against his pillows, me at an angle near his shoulder. I was sleepy and felt him stroke my hair.

  ‘Such short hair,’ he commented.

  ‘Yes, I keep it close-cropped for my antics. Often I wear wigs for to amuse His Majesty with imitations of people at court.’

  He chuckled, a lovely deep sound. ‘Do you? Who does he favor most?’

  ‘He likes my Cromwell and my Wolsey. I see I shall have to fill in the alphabet presently.’

  He chuckled again, still stroking my nearly shaved head, and bringing his stroking fingers down to my cheek. ‘What makes a man want to become a jester?’

  ‘I don’t think any man sets himself to become a jester. It happens. I was naturally a foolish fellow and brought to the king’s attention by my master. It is a marvelous place to be, before the king’s attention. For I make him laugh, I make him merry. And sometimes, I even make him think.’

  He touched my chin, lifting my face for a soft kiss, for he was spent as well. ‘You make him think?’

  ‘About this and that. His councillors have one opinion that may not be the best for the realm. For they are men and have their own pursuits and interests.’ I gave a soft chuckle. ‘But I mustn’t speak of that. I shouldn’t like the gossip in Spain to be that the king takes his advice from fools. But of course, they must know that already.’

  Gonzalo laughed again. ‘I can see why the king took you in.’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘You are a merry fellow.’ He sighed. ‘Would that I could steal you away to my country to keep me amused.’

  I touched his face, my thumb passing his lips. He sucked on it.

  ‘It would be lovely … but impractical. I doubt you would pay me what the king does.’

  ‘You saucy fellow. Would you have me pay you?’

  ‘I’d need to live in some fashion if I were far from home.’

  ‘I see. You don’t need me to pay you now?’

  I slapped his face lightly. ‘I’m not a whore. Just a fool.’

  He kissed me again and we didn’t talk much after that. But early in the morn, before daybreak, I slipped out of his apartments and made my way back to my own. I washed, I ate a bit of bread, I changed into fresh braies and doublet, and as I made my way through the darkened corridors, the sounds of little brass bells followed, reminding me all too keenly of who I was.

  Tuesday passed.

  I didn’t see my Spaniard except as he hurried through the passages with purpose, and wearing a disagreeable frown.

  That Boleyn woman – I mean, the Lady Nan was here and there and everywhere Henry was. Out riding, dancing, prattling in the gardens. I pushed my way into my lord’s apartments where he and his fellows – along with Lady Nan – were playing at cards. I made a big show of setting up a chessboard and the pieces. But I made frowns and sounds of discouragement before Henry, chuckling, asked me what the matter was.

  ‘I’m trying to play chess, Uncle. But I’m confounded.’ I moved pieces about on the checkered board. I doubt Henry noticed just yet that they were all the same piece.

  ‘Why is that? Why confounded?’

  I shook my head and gestured toward the pieces. ‘There are too many queens in play.’

  A jester measures his achievements through laughter, but sometimes also through the silences. And as I knew this would create silence, I was cheered that the arrow had struck true.

  And truer than I thought. Lady Nan cast her cards down and, in a flurry of silks and brocades, stalked out of the room. Henry watched her go with a frown. ‘Get out,’ was all he said to me. I gathered my tools and did so, but not before leaving two queens for him on his sideboard.

  I snatched a look at his fellows. Only one or two smirked at my jest.

  I would have liked to have shared the moment with Don Gonzalo, but I did not see him all the day, nor did I receive a missive. Such things were expected. A wench would often tread after you once you bedded her, but a man contented himself with the one night … or oftentimes one moment in a darkened alcove.

  The rest of my day was filled, at any rate. I had a puppet to repair, and I sat in an opened window in my chamber with borrowed needle and thread, fixing the poor creature’s hand. And then I had a new song to learn, and I spent some hours with my lute and fingering it out, for I could not read musical notation. When I was certain I had it in my mind, I embellished it with extra notes and a trill to my voice. One of the lads who cleaned my chamber smiled at me for the good music and I nodded to him. Later, I took a journey to the kitchens, for one of the galapines told me there was a dog that had pups weeks ago, and I was now the proud owner of a little furry brown whelp, already weened and trained, who had a tangle of whiskers on his face and who stuck his nose into everything, including the skirts of the ladies of court. I dubbed him Nosewise.

  I next went to the harness-makers at the stables round the back of the palace, and a good fellow there cobbled a collar and a leash for him. He didn’t much like the leash at first, but I worked at it for several hours, even teaching him a quick trick that he took to easily, and then brought him in to see Henry later in the afternoon.

  Henry was merry again, no doubt after a thorough consolation from the Lady Nan. ‘What by the saints have you got there, Will? You call that a dog?’

  ‘He’s my new companion, my liege.’ The little fellow took one look at Henry and piddled upon the floor. ‘And look! He’s all ready for the privy council.’

  ‘Clean that up, you knave,’ said the king, turning away to stride out of the chamber.

  ‘You heard him,’ I said to Francis Bryan, one of his privy councillors. ‘Isn’t that what you lot do? Wipe up piss, leave shit for others?’

  He sneered as he walked by me. They were all in a foul mood today, making Henry foul of a sudden. Henry didn’t want me in his privy council meeting either. That meant some secret thing was afoot. As if I didn’t know what that might mean. He needed to find a way to have in play one less queen.